


Better the Second Time

by loveandallthat



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, endgame jack/parse or bust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6410143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandallthat/pseuds/loveandallthat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He gets Jack’s text, “you don’t have to,” thirty seconds before he gets a direct email from Jack’s agent.</p><p>Of course he has to.</p><p>Or, Jack has a public event before he goes into the NHL, and Jack’s agent insists that it won’t be good publicity unless Kent is also there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better the Second Time

**Author's Note:**

> If you can, suspend your disbelief about the event...

Kent’s day starts out so normal, is the thing.  It’s the off season; the Aces had gone to the playoffs but didn’t make it to the finals, and they have a little more time off than when they’d won.  He goes home to see his family, since he rarely gets the chance, but he’s been there long enough that his parents have had to return to their normal lives, and he doesn’t have very much to do.

 

That’s why he’s at a coffee shop in the middle of the day, on his computer even though he really has no reason to need it.  Nobody cares about Las Vegas hockey in New York (they barely care about it in Vegas) so he isn’t really worried about recognition, though he tries not to troll any sports news just in case.

 

He looks at another dumb video with a clickbait title before he’s interrupted by his chirping phone.  As soon as he checks his messages, he drops his phone on the floor, and everyone in the place turns to stare at him.

 

To be fair, it’s a shock to see Jack Zimmermann’s name come up on his phone.

 

If anybody in the room knew who Jack was, they might go through a complicated series of emotions: forgiving him his surprised reaction, realizing that he was Kent Parson, and then thinking that maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. 

 

There was nothing in any gossip sites about the fights they’d had, but if there were, people might appreciate his shock.

 

Kent picks up his phone and unlocks it to actually read the message.

 

 _You don’t have to_.

 

What the fuck?

 

That’s when he gets the email from Jack’s agent.

 

\---

 

That is how Kent finds himself in a tuxedo at the nicest hotel in Providence.

 

 _You don’t have to,_ Jack had said, like Kent had a say in the matter.  Like he wouldn’t still come running when Jack snapped his fingers.

 

He stares at the invitation on his phone screen, thinking that the only thing worse than walking into this room would be walking into the room at the wrong time, but he was there exactly when he needed to be.

 

Kent casually hands his keys to the valet, wondering if his car was considered exciting enough that it might be taken on a joyride, but he doesn’t really care.  He steels himself, then walks into the front door.  Flirting with the concierge gives him a little boost of self-confidence, but it’s still too soon that he’s directed to the ballroom.  And seriously, how had Jack Zimmermann finally joining the NHL somehow ended up meaning that they threw a swanky party?  It’s not like Kent had—

 

It’s not like he would have wanted a party back then anyway, he reminds himself.

 

He’s been forewarned, but is still somehow caught off guard to see the press when he walks into the room.  Jack will be giving a speech, and a lot of people want the opportunity to put it online and add some quotes from his friends and family, and well, here Kent is.

 

The thing is, he didn’t exactly tell anybody he was going.

 

He ignored the emailed invite, and didn’t talk to any of his own people to prepare.  He hadn’t responded to Jack’s text.

 

Since this is mostly just an affair put on by Jack’s people, to try to have some good publicity for his return from hockey mediocrity (according to the public and, maybe, Kent himself), Kent assumes that the press who’d been invited might have at least had an inkling that he would be here.

 

Someone from the press does catch up to him, and stop him asking for a quote.  Even having thought about what to say, he still has trouble being put on the spot about this.  If the reporter has heard anything about him before, she probably expects him to be articulate and flirty, but he’s off his game for obvious reasons, and makes her force his words out of him.

 

Eventually, he does manage to express that he’s very proud of his good friend Jack Zimmermann, of course he came to support him, he’s excited to face him on the ice.  It’s boring and it’s routine, but it’s safe.  Maybe this night won’t be so bad after all.

 

Except Kent sits down at a table when everyone else stops mingling, and he’s hit with the full force of the fact that Jack is here, even if he hasn’t seen him yet.

 

And then Jack steps out really awkwardly into the room.  Well, Kent inherently knows that Jack does everything a little awkwardly, but to him everything Jack does still seems appealing, and he internally reprimands himself for this fact.

 

“Um, hi,” Jack starts.  He looks at his notecards.

 

 _You’re probably wondering why I’ve gathered you all here,_ Kent thinks he might say if he were Jack. 

 

“Thanks for coming.  I know this is weird—my friends at school certainly told me so,” he adds, and Kent feels the reminder like a punch in the stomach.

 

“I know that I was out of the spotlight for a while, and there’s a lot I don’t talk about,” Kent feels this pain much, much deeper, “so I just wanted to have a chance to thank everyone who has supported me enough to get me to this point, and to prove that I can do this.  This time, I’m ready.”

 

Kent hopes so, because neither of them made it out of last time the same.

 

“The only reason I can stand here today, a member of this great team, is because of the people in my life.

 

“My parents have always been incredibly supportive, even when I made it hard for them.  Samwell University was a great place for me to spend four years, and I met some of the best people I know there.  You know who you are.”

 

Jack, at this point, has already gotten to his last notecard.  Kent kind of wonders why he needed them at all, for a short speech like this, but he’s trying to be more understanding of Jack.

 

“And,” Jack continues, suddenly.  He’s not looking at his notecards anymore.

 

“Thank you to Kent Parson, for never giving up on me.”

 

Kent spills his drink all over the table.

 

It quickly becomes painfully obvious that everyone is staring at him.  The worst sense of déjà vu washes over him, and he wants to yell at Jack that this is all his fault, but he catches his eye and is suddenly frozen.

 

Jack looks honestly surprised to see Kent there, and he pauses for much too long.  Everyone in the room has probably caught on to the fact that this is unusual, even for Jack.  Kent makes a “go on” gesture, trying for subtlety and probably failing.

 

It does the trick, though, and Jack is back with the rest of his speech.  Kent doesn’t hear any of it, every sound around him going muffled.  He can’t tear his gaze off of Jack until he goes backstage.

 

That relief is short-lived, however, because as soon as Jack comes back out into the room, he’s heading straight for Kent.

 

In the commotion of the end of the speech, Kent has ended up off in the back corner of the room, out of the way of most of the goings-on, and relatively secluded, so it’s a surprise when Jack finds him so easily.

 

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says to Kent.  The first words he’s spoken to him since the last time Kent visited Jack’s dumb school to try to talk some sense into him.  It kind of makes Kent wonder if he’s apologizing for that time, or for more than that.

 

He’s about to ask, but Jack continues.  “I’m sorry for mentioning you by name.  I know it probably surprised you.”

 

Oh.  The best thing that had transpired between them in years.  _That_ was what Jack had chosen to regret.  Of course.

 

“Don’t,” Kent demands, harsher than he intended.  “It’s fine.”

 

Jack looks at him exactly the same way he always does when they fight, like he’s on-edge and vulnerable.  Fuck.

 

“I just—people might start up the rumors again.”

 

Kent loosens up a little at that.  “Oh, don’t worry about that.  I’m sure it would have happened the first time we played each other anyway.”

 

Jack looks as relieved as Kent feels that they haven’t started arguing or hurting each other yet.  There’s still plenty of time for that, but Kent will avoid it for as long as he can this time.

 

“Yeah,” Jack agreed.  “Still, I’m sorry you had to come to this thing.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”  Well, there goes their comradery.  “Wait, no, I just mean that I don’t mind being invited to this.  You had to know I’d want to be here.”

 

“I did,” Jack admits.  Kent is suddenly certain that Jack means he’s sorry for inviting him _because_ he knew he’d come, like Jack hadn’t wanted him here.

 

“But thanks for coming.”

 

Well, that was something.

 

“Jack,” Kent says, too serious, “obviously. After everything—just, of course.”

 

It’s true, though, they may have had an incredibly large amount of problems in their friendship, but caring has never been one of them.  Misunderstandings were their undoing, but none of that would have hurt as badly without their feelings for each other.

 

Jack looks around nervously, and then stares at him, biting his lip.  “OK,” he answers finally.

 

Kent nods, he looks away for a second, distracted, until he’s brought out of it by Jack’s voice.

 

“Do you have a room here?”

 

That can’t have been what Jack said.  There’s no way he wants to continue talking to Kent somewhere more private.  So Kent turns around, and asks, “What?”

 

Jack steps closer and whispers, “Do you have a room here?”

 

“Yeah, I didn’t want to drive back tonight.  Thought I might drink a lot.”  He doesn’t have to explain why he thought he might drink too much.

 

“Let’s go,” Jack insists, suddenly grabbing Kent by the wrist to drag him to the elevator, not at all concerned with the fact that he doesn’t know where he’s going.  Kent presses the button for his floor anyway, too afraid of snapping whatever string is connecting the two of them, has been since Kent first walked into the room.

 

When they exit, it’s Kent who leads them to his room and opens the door, allowing Jack in first.  Even for just the one night, Kent has gotten a small suite, and Jack looks around before awkwardly ending up walking back and forth near the couch.  For his part, Kent just looks around.  His heart is racing and he can’t explain why.  The bag he’d brought in earlier had indeed been dropped off at his room, and the large bed in the center of the room looks pretty inviting at the moment, but considering he’s ditching a party with its guest of honor, it seems like a better idea to at least talk.

 

“What’s up?” Kent asks.  Great, he managed to put him on the spot _and_ sound incredibly awkward in just a few short words.

 

Jack looks up from his feet, and stops pacing.

 

Kent catches his eye, and then, suddenly exhausted, flops backward onto the bed anyway, and Jack follows to stand over him.

 

Jack’s face from this angle is disappointingly no less attractive than it’s ever been.  Kent stares at it until he catches a glimpse of some upside-down discomfort dancing across Jack’s features, and he figures he might as well say something.

 

“I mean, what are we doing here?”  He props himself up on his elbows to see Jack’s face when he responds.

 

At that, Jack sucks in a breath between his teeth.  “I, um.  I just wanted to talk to you.  Away from everyone else.  To say—Kenny,” he says suddenly, softer than before, and Kent wants to groan at the nickname, and at what it does to him.  “I’m sorry.  For everything.  Not just today, or—not even just when you visited Samwell last time, or the time before that.  Sorry for all the stuff back _then_.”  His emphasis isn’t necessary; Kent would know exactly what he was talking about just from the look in his eye.

 

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” Kent insists immediately.  He didn’t even realize until that moment how not-mad he was about it, or maybe that none of his anger from back then was directed at Jack anymore.

 

“I want to,” Jack stresses, in a tone that makes it impossible for Kent to do anything but respond immediately.

 

“Then, apology accepted, but I’m sorry for back then, too.  I know I didn’t help you at all.”

 

Jack’s shaking his head before Kent’s even done speaking.  “You shouldn’t have had to try.  You were so young,” Jack practically whispers.  The words sound automatic, like he’s had this conversation before, with someone else, and Kent feels awful for the little thrill he experiences at the mere idea that Jack has had to deal with his issues with Kent, just as much as the other way around.

 

“You were too,” Kent answers, and he’s surprised when Jack takes half a step closer to him.  His breathing comes a little faster.

 

“I’m better now,” Jack responds.  Older and getting better every day, probably.  All those days they’ve been apart and Jack’s been getting better and Kent’s been . . . what, making a name for himself?  Devoting himself to hockey

 

Kent can’t keep it back.  “Is that because of your Samwell people?  And your new little blonde friend?”

 

“Don’t,” Jack starts, suddenly angry and animated.  He takes a deep breath and visibly calms himself down, but still he continues.  “Don’t talk about him—them like that.”

 

Kent, of course, notices that slip.  He sits up all the way to lean into Jack’s space.  He doesn’t say, _is he my replacement_ , but of course it occurs to him, and festers.

 

“So?” Kent prompts.

 

Jack sighs.  “Yeah, eventually they helped me get better, but it’s not like they were trying.”

 

“Great,” Kent laments, “They can help you without meaning to, and I can’t help you when I’m going out of my fucking mind trying.”

 

“No, that—that’s not it.”

 

Kent talks over Jack.  “I just wish I could have done that for you, OK?”

 

“Me too,” Jack whispers, and Kent can’t do this anymore.  He collapses back onto the bed, arm across his eyes to block out as much of the world as he can.  What it doesn’t block out, however, is the sudden bouncing movement of the bed as Jack throws his body down next to Kent.

 

He rolls over to look at Jack, resting his head on one hand, but Jack has his arms behind his head and is staring at the ceiling.

 

“I wanted to help you so badly,” Kent whispers, and Jack closes his eyes tightly.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Jack replies, like he knows that Kent needs to hear it.  Kent doesn’t believe it.  “It’s not,” Jack repeats.  He rolls onto his side to lock eyes with Kent, and it helps.  “Not at all.”

 

Something inside of Kent breaks, and he reaches over, gets ahold of Jack’s top arm and pulls until he’s lying half on top of Kent, their chests together, so that he can wrap him in a hug.  It’s almost certainly a bad idea, but resisting the urge is impossible.

 

Surprisingly, Jack hugs back to the best of his abilities.  Kent’s craziest fantasy had been Jack just being passive enough to allow it to happen; what he had really expected was outright refusal.  Reciprocation had never entered his mind as a possibility in all the years that this very situation had been a hope in the back of his mind.

 

It feels like he’s slapped in the face by reality when Jack pulls back.  Then Kent is sure that this is a dream, because Jack keeps his hands on either side of Kent’s head and swings one leg over Kent’s hips to straddle him.

 

Kent’s breath catches in his throat, and he’s instantly turned on, in great part due to sense memory.  His hands are on Jack’s hips before he remembers giving them permission to be there, and they fit just as well as they ever have.  He can’t keep the shock from his face, and Jack is laughing openly in a way that might be more surprising than everything he’s done tonight, and then he’s leaning down, bending awkwardly to fit their mouths together.

 

It’s not as good as it could be, at first, considering that Kent isn’t quite up to participating for a few moments, but he gets with the program as soon as he feels Jack starting to break the contact.

 

It’s slower than anything has ever been between them.  Their relationship back then had been furtive and manic, as though they’d been worried that time apart could ruin them, that they were ephemeral.  It was so much worse than they could have imagined.

 

And yet, here they are again.  Another party, another hotel room, and a series of seemingly insignificant decisions that have brought them here.

 

But they’ve been kissing for what feels like forever, and they haven’t sped up at all.  Kent eventually opens for Jack and moans at the feeling of their tongues meeting, and it wakes him up from the moment.

 

He pulls back, having much more trouble with the task than with anything in the past few years.  “If this is because I showed up today and said nice things about you,” he starts, but trails off, distracted easily by the look of Jack above him, lips red and breathing heavily, his strong arms still keeping him leaning over Kent and being almost close enough to touch.  The phantom feel of their previous contact has his skin still tingling.

 

“It isn’t,” Jack assures him, but Kent’s disbelief must show on his face, because Jack frowns and gets off of him.  Kent misses his weight hugely, like he’s no longer grounded.  He keeps a hand on Jack’s wrist to prevent him from getting too far.

 

“I can’t imagine any other reason for this,” Kent confesses.

 

Jack takes a long time to respond, and it’s stunted when he does.  “I missed you.  I want—this, you, I want you.  What I said up there was true, OK?  I know it’s too late for me to ask for this, but I have to try.”

 

Kent shakes his head.  “I wasn’t good for you last time.  Your new friends are the ones who helped you.”

 

“That’s not the point,” Jack mutters.  “I’m better now than I was when we started . . . you know.  We can work this time.  If you still want it.”

 

Kent’s face feels hot; his pulse is racing and he can’t catch his breath.  Jack looks like he thinks that means no, but he can’t get away easily without dislodging the hand Kent still has on him.

 

“Of course I do,” Kent finally manages, and Jack stops his half-assed struggle to leave.

 

“Oh,” says Jack.

 

Kent licks his lips.  “This is going to be harder than last time.”

 

Jack smiles.  “We’ll see about that, eh?”

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning, there are pictures from Jack’s event on every sports site.  The trashier ones have clickbait headlines above pictures of Jack and Kent talking much too close, touching lightly and intimately, before slipping out of the party altogether.

 

Jack wakes up first and sees them, but he closes the tab, unconcerned.  He has better things to focus on.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stop writing Check Please! And I want to get a handle on the characters but I'm very bad at it for now.
> 
> At the moment, my ideas are like 90% Jack/Kent (for some reason), 5% Bitty/Parse, 3% Dex/Nursey, and 2% Jack/Bitty. I don't know why.
> 
> Anyway, PLEASE respond with any comments, criticism is amazing, conversations are great, who doesn't like happy comments, etc.
> 
> Find me on tumblr as [loveandallthat7/a>! I take prompts for tons of fandoms and pairings.](http://loveandallthat.tumblr.com/)


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